Lark
by Lady Daisy
Summary: A short ficlet containing character death.


Title: Lark Author: Lady Daisy Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Author note: This contains character death. Rating: PG-15. (just to be on the safe side)  
  
Lark, a woman with laughing eyes, with lips that curl up with unnerving ease, a body both lithe and slender, with hair as a bright flame. A woman with a future, a family, friends.  
  
Seeing her now, knowing who she was, aches my heart. A sliver of her former self, a shell, lies here on my bed. Broken, beaten, used. I rinse the bloodied cloth in my hands; the water in the bowl is dark red already, the cloth has turned a dark pink. Gently I return to my work, cleansing the many cuts and welts, I can almost read them as they were a book. She whimpers softly, I look up; her eyes are closed, tightly. Making no sound I continue, when it is time to rinse the cloth again I stand up and walk to the metallic wash bin. Pour the red content, replacing it with fresh, colourless liquid. I open the wooden cabinet and take out a fresh cloth, discarding the used in a large metal container.  
  
I know Lark is not her name, but what is I don't know. It came to me when I first laid eyes on her. I name all who are placed in my room, it is a game I play, just to keep entertained, or so I tell myself.  
  
Returning to her side I see her eyes are open now, she stares at me, pleading, screaming for help. Silently I shake my head, there is nothing I can do for you, I say with my eyes. I look at the thick, wooden door, knowing she doesn't have much time to rest. She follows my stare and looks back, fear radiating from her lean from. Setting the bowl down on the small table besides my bed I wet the cloth and continue to clean her. She opens her mouth, but I lay a finger on her swollen lips and shake my head again. For a short time my world exists only to clean her, bandage her wounds, change her clothes. She blushes when I remove her old clothing, I can't help but smile, anyone who can blush after all this will make it. My smile fades, she won't leave here, not her, this young woman with the fiery hair, now dark with clotted blood and gore. Lark; with eyes containing whole worlds, ready to explore to anyone able to look deep enough.  
  
An agonising cry seeps in, her eyes widen. Not long ago it was her throat letting out those sounds. My heart feels heavy, my eyes show my pain, which is nothing compared to hers, I know. But it is all I can do for her, show her someone in this place cares. Has a heart.  
  
It is almost time, I return to her side and bend down. Slowly, gently I wrap my arms around her and lift her off my bed. As I walk towards the door I feel her arms slide around my neck, looking down I can't help but smile. She looks up at me, a brave smile on her face, her eyes still dark with pain, but no fear can be seen. That's my girl! My chest swells with pride, no one can keep her down, she is strong, my Lark.  
  
I carry her through dim corridors, the only light coming from torches placed far apart. Each time we are swallowed by the dark her arms tighten around my neck. Although I am not strong, I can carry her effortlessly, she weighs less than a kitten. I stop; we have reached the door, behind which her torment will commence a new.  
  
I gently lower her, letting her hang on to me as I reach for my key. Before I turn it I look into her eyes one last time, drinking in the girl she was, the woman she is. Seeing all she was and is, a hint of who she will become one day, but that person is someone she will never be. My heart beats loud in my chest, my thoughts are racing. Dare I defy her? Do I have the courage to walk away? To save this woman? But I know I will never do any of those things, I have been broken a long time ago, too long to ever be mended again, no solace for me in this life.  
  
I carry her inside, her face buried against my chest. They are waiting for her; I walk up the steps leading to the dais, lay her gently on the altar and turn away from her. I look at my mistress for permission, she shakes her head and offers me her knife, I take the blade from her hands. Breathing deeply I turn back and lift my arms. Her eyes widen in confusion, pain and betrayal well up, followed by anger. I look deeply into her eyes, taking in all her emotions, bathing in them. I decide she may go swiftly. Lowering my arms I move to stand behind her, my hand with the knife moves in front of her throat, the other pulls her head back. With a swift move I let the blade cut deep into her exposed throat, her blood flows rapidly, dark red, staining her new clothes.  
  
I watch her die; she does not struggle, and simply lets go, knowing there really is nothing she can fight. She has lost. Somehow I cannot help smile at that thought. A scream draws my attention, it is not one made in pain or anger. I look up and see a young woman stand in the doorway, a battle-axe in hand, covered in blood, none of which is hers, I know. She does not look at me; her eyes are locked on Lark. She shakes her head, not believing what she sees. Suddenly she lunges forward, swinging her axe, killing all who dare to stand in her way. Behind her I can see others enter the room, equally shocked as the woman now coming up the steps. I have always known I would never leave this place and smile up at my saviour. She will give me peace. The axe comes down and my head falls on the ground. Feeling my life drain from me I hear her voice, filled with grief.  
  
"Willow!" 


End file.
